


Your Mother's Son

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Headspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re six years old the first time someone calls you “pretty.”</p>
<p>Your father says, words sharp on his tongue, “Yes, just like his mother.” You don’t understand why that should be a bad thing, from what precious little you remember of her.</p>
<p>But you recognize a weapon when you see one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Mother's Son

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [these](http://laoih.tumblr.com/post/104477506141/) [two](http://laoih.tumblr.com/post/104477474176/) posts.

You’re six years old the first time someone calls you “pretty.”

Your father says, words sharp on his tongue, “Yes, just like his mother.” You don’t understand why that should be a bad thing, from what precious little you remember of her.

But you recognize a weapon when you see one.

\--

You’re ten when your father decides you’re too old for tears.

It’s the anniversary of your mother’s death and you’re crying for her, yes, but also for everything you’ve lost, for the scope of emptiness in your life you don’t yet understand, the chasm you can’t yet measure. He gets back to the motel earlier than you thought he would and catches you in the act.

“Man up,” he says. They’re the first words he offers you that day. Then he picks up a bottle, and it turns out they’re also the last. He drinks until he passes out and he does not cry. Always leading by example.

Later, you slip the half-empty bottle from his fingers. You take a sip, and the shock of it going down is so sudden that you cough some of it back up, the burning sensation spreading from your mouth and throat into your sinuses, bringing tears to your eyes against your will.

_Man up_ , you think, and take another.

\--

You’re thirteen the first time you get into a fight at school. You only start it because some kid is picking on Sam, making fun of his small figure, his long hair.

You lose.

The principal scolds you anyway, and the entire time you’re waiting for your father to come pick you up, you repeat her words in your head: _Hitting people is wrong, hitting people is wrong, hitting people is wrong_.

That night, your father says he’s going to teach you to throw a proper punch. The first one you try, he says, “No wonder you lost. You hit like a girl.”

You lay awake in bed that night, thinking: _Hitting people is wrong, but hitting like a girl is worse_.

\--

You’re sixteen when they start leering at you at gas stations, in bars, outside motels.

“Hey, princess,” they drawl, eyeing your smooth skin, your full lips, your bright eyes. Your stomach twists and your face burns, and you’re ashamed of the fact they scare you more than the idea of your first hunt looming, your right of passage, make or break.

It goes badly, when it comes. You put a crossbow bolt in the thing’s chest, but not before it sinks its claws into your face. When you tell John you don’t need to go to the hospital, his eyes shine with pride. You are in agony.

You know how to care for cuts properly, but you clean the wound poorly on purpose.

You won’t admit it to yourself, but you’re kind of hoping it scars.

\--

“Like hell am I going to wear women’s panties,” you say, and she rolls her eyes.

“They’re just _panties_ ,” she says, and you can’t articulate a counter argument, so you put them on like you have something to prove.

You like it and it terrifies you, and you’re glad she doesn’t know you well enough to try and hurt you with it. You spend the whole time thinking, _I’m just doing this because she’s hot, I’m just doing this because I want to get laid, I’m just doing this because, because_ \--

And thank god this is temporary, just like her.

\--

“Bitch,” you spit, casually.

You know how to wield a weapon when you hold one.

 


End file.
